The Power of Stillness

“Sometimes it is better not to talk. At all. About anything. To anyone.” – Unknown

I escaped to the river for a few short hours on a sunny afternoon. Took my kayak and my fishing gear to a spot I could briefly paddle upstream to and try to attempt to catch a few fish. But when I look back at the experience now, it wasn’t about fishing at all. It was the silence of fishing that I was seeking.

Everything around me of late has seemed so challenging. Some of the challenges are quite correctly of my own making, as I tend to take the world a bit seriously these days. My seriousness tends to boil inside of me as silence, seeking all the time to try to act on, or say something, that is better than the silence. I remember telling myself once that a wise, peaceful and compassionate person needs to be found alone at times, saying nothing, listening to no other human voices. Silent. Quiet. Still. No words in books, no music from the radio, no actors or anchors on the TV, no endless knowledge of the internet, no people talking.

So what I came away from the river with was lungs filled with moist river air, that was fragrant with late summer flowers. I came away with gently rippling sounds inside my head of the water flowing over rocks, tumbling over wind-fallen trees and the splashing of the paddles urging me upriver. I came away with eyes filled with turtles sunning on the floating logs, sparkling fish, cedar waxwings dancing through the branches, an osprey hunting above me and green shades of late summer as far up and down the river as I could see.

Surrounded as I was with the quiet of nature, I barely knew what was transforming inside me. The quieter I became, distanced from the civilized world’s noise, the more I began to hear.

What I heard, but did not recognize till later was that I may not be perfect, the world is certainly imperfect, but watch us both improve. As time passes, I realize how much I have improved as a person. I look at the long recorded history of the world, one that is filled with great discoveries and great tragedies, but it has improved.

So what did I really go out to do that sunny summer afternoon? I went to find hope, and to continue when appropriate, to remain silent when those around me expect me to be enraged.

Mistakes Will Be Made.

"Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life." ~Sophia Loren

I leaned over the side of the boat to wash the fish slime off my hands only to be greeted with “Kerplunk!” My Ray Bans slipped from their perch on the brim of my hat and traveled directly to the bottom of South Manistee Lake. Ohw! That hurt, on so many levels. That undersize largemouth bass I had released moments before was the last thing on my mind.

I felt sick even though I was trying to tell myself that they were just a dumb pair of sunglasses. But my relentlessly unforgiving brain kept up taunting me. “Yeah, just sunglasses. $300 sunglasses. Prescription sunglasses. Only 6 months old. How dumb can you be to place them on top of the brim of your hat to be able to get the hook out of the fish? See, you do so need the bifocals the eye doctor was pushing you to consider. And why no safety strap?”

No, that last thought was a gently echoing message that my wife and fishing partner had moments before delivered to me to consider. In fact it was her bass I had just released that got my hands slimy.

“Why didn’t you have a strap on them like mine have?” she said, “You put this one on my sunglasses for me.”

She was of course right about that. I had spent time rigging a strap for her sunglasses so that just this sort of thing would not happen to her while she was fishing or kayaking. Did I somehow think I was immune to this happening to me?

My point of all this came to me later. After the mosquito repellant dissolving part of my kayak seat later, which after seeing what OFF does to plastic I am having a troubling time thinking about ever spraying it on my skin again. That point is that I am always going to be a victim to doing dumb things. It seems to be a profound part of my nature. Thus far they have not been overly damaging but have been nonetheless annoyingly frequent. Not happening more frequently but kind of consistently constant. Something I am going to have to budget for. Part of the household budget. Mitch’s stupid blunders line item.

Dad

“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.” --Aldous Huxley

My dad was not one you would find sitting still very often. In fact, the first time I remember him truly motionless for any length of time was when his back gave out, a victim of his strength not meeting the demands of the task. It must have been a huge task that did him in, as I remember the lean, tremendous physical strength that he possessed.

That strength--at least in part--came from his love of the outdoors and all that it involved. And working a day job pushed him to find things to do that were evening or nighttime activities.

When he hunted raccoons with dogs, it was a physical act. You waded through swamps. He traveled through pitch-black woods guided only by the sounds of the dogs. He lugged 30-pound animals out of the woods back through those same swamps and dark woods dragging a couple hounds as well. Then at the end of the night with dawn approaching, he skinned, stretched hides and maybe grabbed a couple hours sleep before it was time to get up and work the auto mechanic job that was his profession.

Or he spent his evenings floating rivers, spearing or pole-fishing for catfish, carp or gar. Hauling the flat-bottom boat and equipment from beds of pick-up trucks or off the roof of a family’s car to launch and reversing the process at the end of the float fishing excursion.

Trapping was another sport he squeezed into his evenings and mornings scheduled around work. Traps would be set and checked and the harvested animals prepared for the fur market. He hauled a basket of steel traps and the trapped animals, down edges of creeks, around lakes in his waders and edges of forests and field, breathing in the life of the active outdoorsman.

Most of the time when I woke in the morning, the only proof of my Dad’s existence was what he had harvested during the time he was away. Animals and fish mysteriously deposited for processing or the families consumption.

I remember my first pheasant hunting trip with my Dad. I was 12. We went all day and we went at his pace. I knew that was expected and it was also what I expected of myself. At the end of that day, I could barely finish walking out of the fields. My gun felt like I was carrying a military field piece of huge caliber. I honestly had never been more exhausted in my entire life. I also knew that what I had experienced was a beautiful look inside the mystery that was inside of my father. For probably the first time, I shared an exact experience on his terms of what it was that he did when he was doing.

He was evangelizing me--challenging me--to experience living the outdoor life from his view of life. And I was saved.

The Now Is A Superpower

When I walk up to a river to fish, I bring with me the past and the ability to see a future.
I know what water is from experiencing its moods. I know what a river is as I have seen them before. I know what it may hold under its surface from what I have pulled from water previously on the end of a fishing line. I remember which baits or lures will work and how they will flow in the draw of a particular current. Even if this is a totally new location, I can piece together from the past what is happening now in front of me.
But yet, I am totally existing in the moment at hand. Surrounded by the space around me. I have never been there before like now. What will happen is a total unknown, but if I act the way the past subconsciously reminds me to, I will have glimpsed into the future. I may catch a fish, snag a lure or fall in the water over my waders...All possibilities. All futures.

However it happens, that will soon be another memory to predict another future. That's the superpowers of being in the presence of now.